


Even Lights Can Fade Away

by LettersFromTheAsylum



Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar
Genre: Nightwing Volume 2 Issue 093, Past Rape/Non-con, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:00:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersFromTheAsylum/pseuds/LettersFromTheAsylum
Summary: He thinks he can see her handprints burned into his chest sometimes.Bludhaven is miles away but scars don’t fade with distance.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 111





	Even Lights Can Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> The past rape/non-con is implied, but I still wouldn’t read if that makes you uncomfortable.

He thinks he can see her handprints burned into his chest sometimes when he’s shirtless and in front of a mirror. It doesn’t tear him to pieces like it used to, though. His hands only shake a little when he focuses on the patter of rain on the roof, and it’s worse when he’s outside and has to feel the wetness soaking him down to his bones.

He’s okay, though. He’s okay.

He gets this sick feeling in his gut when he’s alone with women he doesn’t know sometimes, but he smiles and flirts instead of keeping his distance.

Peter notices, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t ask because he thinks he knows, but he can’t imagine Bludhaven and Blockbuster and everything after, between and before. Peter thinks he knows, but  _ Bruce  _ doesn’t even know.

New York receives record rainfall one summer and Neal spends a large portion of that time with his hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn’t paint or draw anymore because, despite all of Bruce’s meditation techniques, Neal never learned how to exorcise the ghosts inside of him, never figured out how to take back control.

No one knows. Some may think they know, but they don’t  _ know _ . In order to understand what Peter thinks he understands, he would need to find the place the knotted threads begin, and then trace them back to the present. Peter’s a good agent, but Neal had been better at dissolving all hints that he ever existed.

Peter will never know. No one will ever know.

Neal tunes out the rain and hides his trembling hands in his pockets. He grins at Diana as he passes and she gives him an exasperated but fond smile in return.

He doesn’t dare pull his hands out of his pocket, doesn’t dare look at his hands. He knows what he’ll see–the blood still staining them–and he won’t be able to stop himself from vomiting all over the floor then and  _ it’s never going to stop. _


End file.
